“Last summer, Charlie Greene shacked up in an East Nashville recording studio for several days and emerged with Wildfire Music, an album that split the difference between West Coast country and southeastern Americana. One year later, he’s singing a different tune with his newest single, “Honorable Women.” While pedal steel guitars swoon in the background, Greene lets his honky-tonk flag fly, using his deep baritone voice to deliver a song about mature ladies and one-night stands.” – American Songwriter
Like a blend of Ryan Adams and Leon Russell, Los Angeles-based singer/songwriter Charlie Greene is a balladeer. With Americana, piano rock and a country vibe in his back pocket, Greene delivers a sweet performance on “Lost & Found”. According to Charlie, “Lost & Found” deals with unexpected redemption. It’s about finding what you were looking for once you stop looking for it.” – Magnet Magazine
“What’s remarkable is how mature of a songwriter Charlie has become in such a short span of time. With a style that touches on everything from Merle Haggard and Harry Nilsson to Ornette Coleman and Burl Ives, Charlie’s songs have both a musical and emotional complexity that is hard to replicate. Greene’s latest album, Charlie Greene, contains everything great about Charlie’s music while showcasing his continuing growth as an artist. Songs like “Man On Fire” and “Everything Gets Me Down” demonstrate both Charlie’s grasp of the long history of American music as well as the wholly unique perspective he brings to it.” – Elmore Magazine
“He is a songwriter whose material manages to be warmly familiar and yet entirely distinct. Much like Caitlin Rose’s latest effort, Greene’s Wildfire Music has a sweetly, easy-going 70s AM radio, easy-listening, country twang vibe. But lyrically, the material belies it’s easy-going nature as Greene’s vocals express a deeply aching, desperate yearning, a sense of regret and despair with an unflinching and affecting level of candor. With a novelist’s attention to detail, each song’s narrator feels much more like a fully fleshed out person with dashed hopes and expectations, their own dysfunctions that they often can’t completely understand. On a track like “I Count the Bricks,” a lonely narrator counts the bricks in his regular bar. And he’s likely done this half a million times to distract himself from thinking about his own sorrow. On other songs the narrators admit that they’ve fucked up their lives royally — or that they’re frightened that they may have fucked up their lives in an endless pursuit of women, drugs, alcohol, money, fame. It’s the sort of album that’s perfect for last call at a lonely out of the way dive, where you’ll likely try to drown your sorrows — at least for a little while.” – The Joy of Violent Movement
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